My Dear Watson
by 07Hearts
Summary: Jane Watson never was the same after she saw her best friend fall from that building. After all, it was only just then that she realized she had loved him. Fem!John Watson (Rated T for violence)
1. Just One More Miracle

** "I told you before, Jane: I don't have ****_friends_****. I've just got ****_one_****_."_**  
**"My best friend..Sherlock Holmes...is dead."**

_**Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination.**_

* * *

Jane Watson walked the streets of London in the pouring rain. Few cars were out, and even fewer people.

She looked like a ghost. A mere shadow of her former self. For tomorrow it would be three years since that fateful day. The day that her best friend, Sherlock Holmes, died.

As she turned a corner, a long black limousine pulled in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. The door to the rear opened and a tall gangly man with an umbrella stepped out. He gave her a warm smile and said, "Good evening, Miss Watson."

Jane had to look up considerably to meet his eyes. "Mycroft."

Leaning on his umbrella, Mycroft Holmes raised an eyebrow, and in that moment resembling his younger brother more than ever. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"

"I'm not really interested." Jane said flatly.

"Don't you think it's unhealthy to continue as you are? Even after three years, you continue to live in that flat, refusing to move on."

"I don't really see how that concerns you."

"Oh, but it does. Even if it killed me, I swore to continue my brother's work and look after you. Do you really think that _he'd_ want to see you in this state?" Jane shifted uncomfortably. "Sherlock would not have wanted this."

"Well, it doesn't matter what _he'd_ want anymore, now does it? Sherlock's **dead**. And there's nothing that can change that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Mrs. Hudson will be worried enough as it is."

As Jane walked around him, Mycroft grabbed her wrist. "Jane, please, even if you can't let go for yourself...let go for him."

He placed the umbrella in her hand. Jane gazed wide-eyed up at the elder Holmes brother.

Wrenching her arm away she said in a whisper, barely audible in the downpour, "I'm sorry, but as far as I'm concerned...I died with him that day." Opening the umbrella and lifting it above her head she said, "Thank you for all you've done, Mycroft."

Jane turned and walked around the car, leaving Mycroft standing alone, watching her retreating back with pity.

When she reached her flat 221b, she placed her key in the keyhole and opened the door. Even though she tried to shut it as quietly as humanly possible, it still made a louder noise than she would have liked. Cringing, she hung up her coat, placed the umbrella Mycroft gave her in the corner, and walked into the living area.

Sitting down in her usual chair, Jane picked up her laptop on the table next to it, and placed it in her lap. Opening it up to show her old abandoned blog, her hands made a movement, as if to start flying across the keyboard like they once did, but nothing happened, she froze, like always. Ever since that day...she could no longer continue writing on the blog.  
Comments filled her inbox asking "What happened to you?" "Why have you stopped writing?" and the most common "Is Sherlock really dead?"

Taking a shaky breath, her eyes floated over to that ridiculous picture of Sherlock wearing that stupid hat. She remembered how much he had hated it. How much he complained. But for some reason, she had always loved it.

She loved seeing him play with the ear flaps, deduce how impractical the thing was, and complain like a five-year old every time he saw it.

The corner of her mouth twitched into a half-smile as she took it in, her baby blue eyes shining. It took her a moment to realize that she was crying. Wiping tears away with the sleeve of her baggy knitted sweater, Jane closed her computer and put it back to its former spot on the table.

A voice called out to her from behind. "Jane...dearie...are you alright?"

Jane looked over her shoulder to see a night gowned Mrs. Hudson. Standing, Jane smiled and said, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Please, do not worry."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes became sorrowful. Walking over and embracing the younger woman, she whispered, "Oh, Jane. It's okay..it's okay..."

Jane fought the tears with all her might, but Mrs. Hudson's gentle cooing hit her at her core and she broke. Leaning on the older woman, Jane cried. Her shoulder's shook and she let out wracking sobs.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes walked the hallways of his mansion. His temper was quick, and not to be tested. And seeing Jane today made his blood boil.

The once strong, dependable, and witty woman was now broken. Bent and torn by this merciless world. But his anger was not directed at the world, but at the person responsible for her pain.

He reached a large room with two large double doors. Throwing them open, he stormed up to the bed inside and barked, "Get up."

A grunt came from the mess of sheets. Mycroft's temper flared. "Get up, you sorry excuse for a human being!" He ripped the sheets off the bed to reveal the annoyed person buried beneath them.

Mycroft's gaze hardened. "It is time you took responsibility for what you've done, little brother."

* * *

I'm quite proud of how this turned out! :D Oh God, the feels are coming back...


	2. Don't Be Dead

_**"Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts.  
The first is called**_

_**The Pledge.**_

_**The magician shows you something ordinary:  
a deck of cards, a bird, or a man.  
He shows you this object.  
Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed  
real,  
unaltered,  
normal.  
But of course...it probably isn't.**_

_**The second act is called**_

_**The Turn.**_

_**The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something  
extraordinary.  
Now you're looking for the secret  
but you won't find it.  
Because of course you're not really looking.  
You don't really want to know.  
You want to be**_  
_**fooled.  
But you wouldn't clap yet  
Because making something disappear isn't enough.  
You have to bring it  
**__**BACK.**__**"**_

* * *

Jane sat next to Detective Inspector Lestrade at a long table set up in front of as many chairs that could fit inside the large conference room the next morning.

Detectives and officers from Scotland Yard flooded in and out of the room, along with reporters.

Jane felt like she was suffocating. Lestrade noticed her discomfort and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Jane. It'll be over quickly."

Jane gave a small smile. Over the past three years Lestrade had done his best at keeping reporters away from her and Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft had a large a part in this cause as well, she knew. "I'll be right back." Said Lestrade. He stood up and went to talk to one of his subordinates.

Taking a deep breath, Jane closed her eyes, trying to drown out the world around her. She just wanted this to be over, and done with. Even though this would be the third year she had done this, it never got easier.

She heard a loud sigh next to her. Opening her eyes and looking over, she saw a grumpy Anderson. Jane knew he never liked this either, but for different reasons.

Anderson noticed her looking and said irritably, "You'd think the reporters would have had their fill by now."

Jane forced out a small laugh. "I just think that they haven't had any other good stories."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. "Probably." Turning to her, Anderson asked, "How are you doing?"

Jane had heard this question a thousand times everyday, all day, for the past three years. "Same." she sighed. "It never gets really any easier. I've just learned how not to break down and cry every time I go to get groceries."  
Anderson gave her a concerned look.

In the last three years, Jane had grown closer to Anderson and the others.

She used to not have much to do with them at all, for they hated her best friend with a passion. Although, that hate was directed towards the friend in question, not to her. Jane never really had a problem with them, nor they her.

Anderson was about to open his mouth to speak when Mycroft Holmes entered the room.

With a quick nod to Lestrade, everyone took their proper seats. Anderson moved further down the table when Lestrade and Mycroft came up and sat on either side of Jane.

She gave a small smile to the elder Holmes, which was returned a little _too_ enthusiastically.

Jane's eyebrows knitted together. Mycroft was always known to be a cheerful man, but not when there was business involved. And especially not on this day.

Deciding it was nothing, Jane gave herself one last mental push she thinking, _'This is it. All I have to do is sit here for an hour or two and answer the same questions that are asked every year. No big deal. I can do this.'_

The room was quite. If you listened hard enough; you might be able to hear the breathing of the people around you.

Standing up, Lestrade took a deep breath and said loud and clear so that everyone in the room could hear, "Today is the day...that one of the greatest detectives to ever live...Sherlock Holmes...died."

Suddenly every phone in the room went off. Taking out her phone, Jane looked at the text. It read: 'Wrong!'

Jane's mind went numb as she stared blankly at her phone. _'What's going on...?'_ she thought. Lestrade's chair screeched as he stood up. "TRACE THE SENDER!"

Mycroft had the biggest Cheshire like grin on his face.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Jane ran up the stairs as fast as she could. Her lungs and legs burned with each movement. When they had traced the phone's source, it had led to the building where it all happened. Where it had all ended.

Catching sight of the door to the rooftop, she pushed harder. When she reached it, she rammed through it, not caring if it was a trap.

There, standing by the ledge, back facing towards her, was a tall man with black hair. His trench coat blew in the wind.

She approached cautiously. When she was within a few yards of him, he turned, showing his face. And there, standing before her, was Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked. "Hello, Jane."

* * *

SHERLOCK!


	3. Could You Do That For Me?

**_"Um. Hm. You... you told me once that you weren't a hero.  
Um. There were times that I didn't even think you were human.  
But let me tell you this,  
you were the best man and the most human... human being that I have ever known,  
and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.  
And so... there.  
I was so alone  
and I owe you so much.  
Please, there's just one more thing.  
One more thing.  
One more miracle, Sherlock,  
for me.  
Don't..be... dead.  
Would you do that,  
just for me?  
just stop it, _****_stop this_****_..."_**

* * *

Sherlock took in Jane's appearance. She had lost weight, about 25lbs. Her former sparkling baby blue eyes had large dark bags underneath them and were dim, she hadn't slept more than four hours a night for nearly three years. She was suffering from nightmares nearly every night. Her light blonde hair had lost its usual shine. And her fair skin had lost its usual glow.

She was broken.

A deep pain shot through the normally ice-cold heart of Sherlock Holmes. He had done this to her. How many nights did he, himself stay awake himself worrying about her? Even though it was necessary, he regretted it all.

* * *

Jane's mind wasn't working. She couldn't believe it, but there he was. There he was with his cheekbones and his stupid collar turned up to look cool. She didn't know what to do.

Taking slow steps, she stood before her best friend once again. Reaching out with one hand, she lightly touched his scarf with her finger tips, as if testing to see if he was real. Sherlock gave a sad smile. "I'm here, Jane. I'm alive."

Jane looked up into his eyes. She was always amazed by them. They were green and blue, but they were also gold. They were the most mesmerizing things she had ever seen.

Coming out of her trance, Jane narrowed her eyes. Balling her hand up in a fist and pulling her arm back a ways, she punched him in the face.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Sherlock stood up wobbly from the ground, holding his face. "I suppose I deserved that." He said moving his jaw around and wiping away the blood from his nose.

"Yeah. I suppose you did" She said flatly. Jane didn't know how she felt. Happy? Angry? Betrayed? She just didn't know.

They looked at each other for a while. Not knowing how to continue. Jane's knuckles began bruising. Sherlock looked at them with worry. "Well?" asked Jane. Attempting to control her emotions. "What now? Y-You think you can just walk back in on my life? Act like nothing's happened? You DIED!"

Sherlock flinched slightly at her voice. "Jane... Please..."

"Don't "Jane" me!" Where the hell were you?!"

"Jane, let me explain...!"

"Explain what, exactly? Just..." she didn't know what to say. "Why did you do this?"

Sherlock remained silent for a long moment. At last he said with pained expression, "To protect the one thing I couldn't live without... You, Jane."

Her heart stopped for a moment. "... What?"

"I can't tell you everything, just know that was the main reason. Please, believe me." His face took on that of desperation.

Jane swallowed back a lump in her throat. Deciding on something, she said, "I never stopped."

A relieved smile appeared on Sherlock's lips.

Holding out his hand for her to take as if they were children he said, "Come."

Almost uncertainly, Jane reached forward and took his large hand. It was warm. And _alive_.

Sherlock began to walk towards the door to the stairs.

When they reached the main door to outside, a black limousine pulled in front. Sherlock walked up to the car, Jane right behind him, still holding his hand. Out of the usual door, out stepped Mycroft. He smiled. "Surprise."

"You knew?" Said Jane disbelieving.

"Of course I knew." Mycroft replied. "You don't honestly believe I wouldn't know if my own brother was alive or not, do you?"

"You lied to me. Both of you..."

"Jane." Began Sherlock, gripping her hand tighter. "I will explain on the way back to the flat, but, please, don't run away."

She locked eyes with him. Despite his usual emotionless stature, his eyes, body, and face betrayed his childish way of begging.

Jane relaxed and let herself be led into the car after Sherlock. Mycroft got in after.

They drove in silence. Jane stared out the window. She couldn't believe that last night she had just cried over this idiot next to her. And she was well aware of his eyes never leaving her profile. "Well? Don't you have something to tell me?" She asked not looking away from the window.

Sherlock sighed. "It was the only way. If I hadn't, he would have killed all of you."

"All?" She asked confused.

"You, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and others..."

Jane nodded. "So, why pretend for so long?"

"I couldn't be sure that, after Moriarty killed himself, his followers would come back for revenge and finish the job. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."  
She looked over at him at last. Neither of them said anything. Just sat there, looking at one another. Mycroft fiddled with his phone.

"Are you coming back?" Jane asked after a long time, still looking into his eyes.

"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Mycroft caught the rest of Moriarty's followers six months ago, but I was, I guess you could say, too chicken to face you again. And seeing by the way you punched me, it was a justified fear."

She let out a small laugh. "Sorry about that. Couldn't stop myself."

"It's fine." He said softly.

As they continued to gaze into each other's eyes, Jane's anger subsided, and she felt a strange warmth in her heart, along with immense happiness.

She remembered what he had said over the phone that time. "My note" he had said. The stupid fool.

She remembered him throwing his phone to the side as he held out his arms and let himself fall. Remembered him hitting the ground. Remembered her screaming for him to stop.

As she looked into his eyes she noticed a deep emotion burning through them. It was so powerful, she was surprised that it hadn't taken over him. She didn't know what it was, but Sherlock looked as if he couldn't hold back much longer.

One of the many questions remained unanswered. "How did you survive the fall?"

Sherlock looked away for a brief moment. "The bicyclist the hit you was a plant of Mycroft's," Jane snapped her eyes to the elder Holmes. He looked around the car with a sudden new interest. Sherlock continued, "When you were knocked to the ground, I landed, rather painfully, on the tree limb sticking out nearby, slowing my fall. Hence the blood on my head. I then finished with a nice flop to the ground. The people nearby wouldn't see me until I hit the ground anyway."

Jane looked up at the ceiling. Taking it all in without much of a fight. Most anything was possible when it came to Sherlock. "Okay. Now answer me this: I checked your pulse that time. There was nothing. How?"

Sherlock let his prideful smirk appear on his annoyingly smug face. "Ah, you see..." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a blue ball.

Jane's eyes went wide. "You didn't..?"

"Oh, I did. It's so simple, but I figured you'd be so confused and in shock you wouldn't notice."

"Right. Okay. And what about the body. You know, the one we buried?"

"I was hoping you might ask. I also had the help of Molly Hooper."

Her eyes snapped back to his. "Molly? Molly knows about this?"

"Yes." A strange sense of jealousy formed in the pit of Jane's stomach. "She provided the body. She took one of the nameless corpses and made him look like me."

"And she got away with it?"

"Somehow."

"I see..."

It was only in this moment, after all the emotions and feelings in her heart began to calm down, that Jane remembered that, right as she had thought she had lost Sherlock forever on this very same day three years ago, just how much she had loved him.

She began to open her mouth to speak, but Mycroft beat her to it. "When we get back to the flat, I have a job for you two."

Both Jane and Sherlock looked at him confusedly. "Job?"

* * *

I would have just punched him again. :P


	4. Pain From The Past

**_"Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means—looking sad when you think _****_she _****_can't see you."  
"You can see me."  
"_****_I don't count."_**

* * *

When Jane, Sherlock, and Mycroft made it back to flat 221b, Mrs. Hudson was there. She at first grew angry at Sherlock, but then became relieved with happiness and hugged him tight, repeating to him over and over to never do something like that again.

Lestrade also called during it and began laughing. He didn't know that he was alive, but now that he did, he planned on punching Sherlock next he saw him, much like Jane did. Sherlock and her shared a glance at that point, both grinning.

When everything had calmed down and Mrs. Hudson went back to her work, they seated themselves down and Mycroft began to speak. "Now that there are no more distractions, I would like to tell you what kind of job I have for the both of you."

He had both of their attentions. "Two weeks ago there was a large amount of government military secrets taken out from under our noses."

Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh? Someone finally got the better of you, Mycroft?"

Mycroft gave him an annoyed look. "Not me. I wasn't assigned to that particular portion of the database. Jane, you may be familiar with the man who took the information's name. He went rouge right before you were sent back here. And he was also a doctor."

Fear crept into Jane's entire being. And she silently prayed that the name that was about to come out of the man across from her mouth was not the one she was thinking of. Mycroft continued. "His name is Dr. Adrian Hansford."

Jane's eyes closed and her mind went numb as he said it. _So it is him..._

A dull pain throbbed where the bullet had pierced her skin in her shoulder as Sherlock began asking questions about the man, but Jane heard none of them.

It was only when Sherlock shook her arm that she came out of her trance. "Jane? Are you alright?"

Jane looked at him. Concern was in his eyes. She gave a small smile. "Yes. Yeah, I'm fine."

Not convinced, Sherlock sat back in his chair. Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Jane, did you know Dr. Hansford?"

Her eyes snapped to him. Her mouth went dry and she found it hard to speak.

Finally managing to choke out the words, she said, "I did. We worked together on several missions and on the field. Back then I had though him a good man, though. However, when I heard he had told the enemy of where we were transferring the injured to safety and had them ambushed, my opinion quickly changed."

"I see," he replied. "Well, I must go, now. I have some business to attend to." Giving the two of them 'the look' he said, more of a demand than a question, "You will track him down, won't you?"

Sherlock gave a quick smirk. "Rouge soldier. Stolen military secrets. Highly dangerous. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

And with a smirk of his own, Mycroft left.

When the sound of Mycroft's car disappeared into the distance, Sherlock turned to Jane cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "Well! Better get started. We should check the archives first and find all that we can about him. Then, we can move on, depending on what we find out about him and his character, to the rest of the job."

"If you're wondering about the day he betrayed the army, you don't need to look it up on a computer." Jane mumbled.

Sherlock looked at her confusedly. "What do you mean?"

In a shaking, yet firm voice Jane said, "I mean that I can answer everything for you. After all, I was the captain in charge of the assigned mission. And he was the one who betrayed and shot me." Sherlock's eyes widened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked stiffly.

A sad smile appeared on Jane's lips. "You never saw my wound, did you?" His silence was all the answer she needed.

Standing, Jane pulled the left side collar of her shirt to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. And there, on her pale and delicate shoulder, was a twisted, yet faded round scar. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

Reaching out with his hand, he touched the place on her shoulder.

A strange madness began to burn in his eyes. Venom dripped from each word as he spoke. "That man, that...Dr. Adrian Hansford, did this to you?"

Jane let her collar go back into place as he removed his hand.

Sighing, Jane walked over to the window and looked out. "Adrian and I...well...we were close, once."

"You were friends with him?"

"Yes... In a way you could say that we were best friends." Sherlock remained silent. Watching her every movement like a hawk. She knew that he was studying the way she stood, the way she moved her shoulder around uncomfortably, the way she seemed to be... scared.

"When you first met me, Sherlock. You deduced that I had suffered trauma. But you had meant emotional trauma. Which is true. It was emotional, but it was also physical. Then later, you asked me to use my imagination and think of what I would say as I was dying. 'Please, God, let me live.' I didn't need to use my imagination."

Sherlock moved slightly closer to her.  
Taking a deep breath she continued. "When I first joined the army, I met a man, Adrian, we became friends due to similar interests. We both wanted to help people, hence the fact we became doctors.  
"One day, we, and a few others were ordered to carry out a secret mission. The mission to transport the injured to a new, secret location. As a captain, I was in command. I had noticed Adrian had been acting weird recently by that time, but I just thought it was due to pressure, I mean, we were all on edge. But no... No, this was different.  
"When we all made it to the new location, we went to scout out ahead, making sure there was no one else there. When neither of us found anything, we headed back," Jane's breath hitched and she shuddered. "When we walked into the main room with the injured soldiers and other doctors, they were dead. All shot. They must have used silencers, or else I would have heard them.  
"I didn't know what was going on, but I knew we had betrayed. The location was top secret after all. I ran up to the nearest body and examined it. I turned to Adrian to ask what could have happened but when I did, I found him pointing a gun at me.  
"I asked what he was doing and was shot in the shoulder, near my heart. I fell to the ground, and tried to stay awake. I remember him walking up and taking one of his fingers, sticking it in the bullet whole, and making the wound worse. I remember screaming from agony. I was confused. Why would he be doing this? We were friends. It must be some sort of mistake. But no. It wasn't.  
"He smiled down at me and my suffering as if it was amusing. Still smiling he said: "Goodbye, Jane." and stood."

Sherlock flinched at those words. 'Goodbye, Jane.' The same words he had said to her the day he had faked his death. And he realized then just how much emotional pain those two simple words had caused her.

Jane continued. "Right before he left, though. He stamped down on my leg, the same one that had a limp, breaking it. I fell unconscious after one last scream.

"When I woke up again, it was three weeks later. I was in a hospital room. My leg had practically healed by that time, so if I used crutches and a boot, I could walk. My shoulder was on its way to recovery, too. But the 'trauma' that the whole thing had caused was enough to make me have a limp without reason, nightmares, and anxiety."

Jane turned to look at Sherlock. He was stiff and rigid. "You said that I had trouble trusting others, once. Well, now you know why."

Without a word, Sherlock retrieved his coat, gloves, and scarf. Putting them on, he stormed out of the room, and down the stairs. "Sherlock?" Jane called after him. "Sherlock!"

Running after him, she caught him at the front door, he stopped with it halfway opened, not looking at her. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

He looked her in the eye, and fury and madness burned in them like no other flame. "You know, Jane," his voice was borderline mad. "you should have just let me take the long way 'round and not have told me all that yourself. Because now...now there is no force on this earth that will stop me from finding that man and killing him with my own hands." and with that he walked out, slamming the door behind him. Leaving Jane standing in the empty hallway alone.

* * *

Sherlock's getting angry~!


	5. He Was My Best Friend

I'm really liking this so far! Also, I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed my story, it really means a lot to me. :)

* * *

**_"Can we not do this, this time?"  
"Do what?"  
"You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."  
"I don't do that."  
"Yeah, _****_you do_****_."_**

* * *

Sherlock walked, fighting not to run, the streets of London. Fury etched into his entire being.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his mobile and called the second number in his speed dial, the first being Jane.

It rang once, twice, three times before the voice Mycroft said: "Yes, Sherlock?"

Venom dripped from the younger brother's words as spat, "You knew."

"Going to have to be a little more specific than that, I'm afraid. Seeing as how I pretty much _know_ everything."

If there was one thing Sherlock wasn't in the mood for, it was Mycroft's games. "You knew Jane was the Captain in charge of moving the injured that time. You knew her past with Dr. Adrian Hansford. You knew what happened back then!"

He heard his brother sigh on the other side. "Of course I knew, Sherlock."

"Then why didn't you say anything?! Why did you tell Jane about the job and not just me?"

"Don't you think she has the most right to know? He was her friend, after all."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. The sun shone down on him, causing his hair to have a blue tinge, and his pale skin to almost glow.

"You didn't answer the first question."

Mycroft sighed again. "I knew you would have blown up at me like this in front of her if I mentioned it back at the flat."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything. Mycroft said his name a few times without success.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock continued. "I want all information on this _Dr. Hansford _sent to me immediately."

"I guessed as much, so I sent it to your phones hard-drive already. Just take a USB cord and plug it into a computer."

"Yes, yes, I know how it works." And with that he hung up.

Sherlock stared at his phone for a few moments before heading towards the lab.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was careful to dodge everyone and everything until he reached the computer room.

Locking the door, he chose the computer closest, and sat down.

He opened multiple drawers until he found the right kind of cord and plugged everything up.

Numbers and letters flew across the screen as the data uploaded.

Sherlock leaned back, his hands touching his mouth in their usual position.

He knew Jane had a lot of secrets, just as he had. And he was willing to let it stay that way.

But why had she kept such an important thing from him? Was it due to the trauma? It's possible. Did she not trust him? No, she trusted him with her life. Wanted to kill him herself before, yes. Believed that sometimes he could be too heartless, yes. Thought he was a tad mad, yes. But she trusted him. Did she just not think it that important? That couldn't be it.

The minds of humans always eluded him, but perhaps he was just thinking too much.

No. When it came to Jane, he never did enough thinking, and that, on more than one occasion, put her in danger and/or made her mad. Him faking his own death was one of them.

It was logical and necessary, but he hurt her. And that fact alone made him wish he had died.

The screen settled, and the profile of Dr. Hansford showed up.

Sherlock leaned forward and read every line.

Studied every photo.

Deduced every aspect until he was satisfied.

* * *

Jane sat in her usual chair in the living room, staring at the floor.

She couldn't believe what had happened: Sherlock just... _showed up_ after three years of being **dead**, and then, not two hours later, bounded out again.

She gathered 'why' of course. He was always a little protective of her, but this was just ridiculous, and she had half a mind to punch him again the moment he walked through the door.

She could have run after him, but what good would that do? He would be more irritable than usual, and would snap at the slightest noise she made.

He probably avoided every living thing on his way to... wherever he was going.

Called Mycroft. Shouted at him.

And then finished everything off with that 'hands to mouth' thing, again.

Jane knew Sherlock's habits inside and out.

Yes, it was best if she just waited here for him to cool down.

That is, if she could sit still. She had been squirming in her chair for the past hour, and it was driving her mad.

Sighing, she looked around for something to do. Noticing her laptop in its usual place, she reached over and picked it up.

Placing it in her lap, she opened it. The screen lit up. More comments had filled her inbox, and, for the first time in three years, Jane began typing.

_Sherlock and I just got a new case._

_It involves someone who I worked with back when I was in the army. I'm a tad nervous, but I'll do my best, and try to keep Sherlock from "experimenting" and being bored too much while we work._

Wish us luck!  
- Jane Watson.

She smiled and pressed 'Publish.' It felt good to be back in business.

* * *

I love writing this story. :3


	6. And I Will Always Believe In Him

_**"How's your blog going?"**_

_**"Yeah, good. Very good."**_

_**"You haven't written a word, have you?"**_

_**"You just wrote "Still has trust issues"."**_

_**"And you read my writing upside down. You see what I mean? Jane, you're a soldier. It's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."**_

_**"Nothing happens to me."**_

* * *

A click behind her head made Jane freeze.

A deep voice sounded. "Hello, Jane."

Her eyes closed and she swallowed. Slowly, she shut and placed her laptop on the table as she stood to face her "visitor."

He had chocolate-brown hair and hazel eyes. Tanned skin with several faded scars. Judging by his face, he seemed to be in his early thirties. He stood a little over 5'11" and had a playful smile on his lips.

Over all, he was a good-looking man.

Jane's face was expressionless as she took one look at the gun pointed at her chest before replying. "Adrian."

His smile widened. "It's been a while."

"Five years or so, I believe."

"Hm." Adrian ran his eyes up and down Jane. She was stiff, but not enough so that she wasn't ready for action.

He let himself look around the flat. "So, this is where you live..." He said it more as a statement and not a question.

"As you can see very well."

"I know what happened. That is, with your flatmate and everything. He must be extremely cold to have done such a thing to you. And not only that, he came back just today and now he's gone again. I believe 'heartless bastard' is the term for people like him."

Jane gave fake, sweet smile and said in an equally fake and sweet voice, "I can think of an even bigger one, can't you?" as she batted her eyelashes.

He chuckled. "Touche, Jane, touche." His smile faded as he continued. "Still, I'm surprised that you. The cautious, moralistic, and hard to get Jane Watson would agree to sharing a small flat with a man."

Jane smiled. "Ah, well, let's just say he made it to where I couldn't refuse."

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "He forced you?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't say that. No, he just got me interested, that's all."

"So, you agreed to... _this_," he motioned with his free hand around the room, "because he took you to solve crimes with him."

She gave a small bounce on the balls of her feet. "About sums it up, yeah!"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Lowering his gun a little he said, "So I've been replaced by a psychopath?"

Jane gave a thoughtful look before saying, "Its sociopath. And yeah, yeah you have. Sorry, not sorry."

He took a step forward. "I remember how one of us would walk in a room and the other would run up just to give us a hug. We were best friends."

Jane gave a small laugh. "Yeah. Then you betrayed and shot me. Not to mention the leg, two years of therapy and nightmares."

Adrian's eyes seemed to flash with a kind of pain, but it was so fast, Jane wondered if it was ever there. He looked away and when he spoke, his voice held a form of quiet, nostalgic guilt. "Sherlock Holmes betrayed you just as much as I did. You look like a shadow of yourself, like you haven't had a proper sleep in ages. And now your telling me that you actually enjoy being in the company of such a man."

Jane was getting annoyed and angry at the man in front of her, and she wasn't too happy with the gun pointed at her either. "Why are you here, Adrian? The British government is after you and you come here. It seems rather stupid to me."

His eyes snapped back to hers and he seemed to regain himself a little. "You know why." He stated.

Her eyebrows knitted together. "I do? Sorry, you're going to have to refresh my memory. I figured you had simply come to kill me."

Hurt filled his eyes. "You think I wanted to do that?"

"You seemed pretty willing at the time."

He walked around the chair and stopped inches before her. He looked down into her eyes. "It was a _job_!"

Jane stood, unflinching. "Who gave you the job?"

He opened and closed his mouth several times. Averting her eyes, he said, "I can't tell you."

Jane searched his face for something, _anything_ that could tell her what he was thinking. "Then... why?"

He looked like he was being ripped apart. But how could that be? When he turned rouge, there wasn't any sign of guilt of sympathy. As a matter of fact, as far as Jane could remember, his eyes were dead at the time. All the light that had fill his former warm eyes before seemed lifeless and cold during her torture, but the coldness wasn't that of heartlessness, it seemed like it was more... forced.

Jane berated herself for thinking such things and came back to the present.

This man was a traitor and a killer. And, most of all, he was not worth her time.

She mentally smirked at the thought of Sherlock walking in and seeing this show.

Stepping back she said, "Look, I don't know what you want, and if you don't tell me what it is now, I swear, I will kick your ass out myself."

His jaw clenched. "I'm the one with the gun, remember?"

"You think I need a gun to take you on? Let's not forget who was promoted to Captain and who wasn't."

"That was based on medical and leadership skills, as a man, naturally I'm better at you than combat."

"Wanna put that to the test like training camp, Mr., what was it they called you again? Oh yeah, Sniper Bait."

He rolled his eyes. "Jane, Jane, Jane. You never change."

"You did."

He sighed and sat down in the chair behind him. As he placed his gun on top of her laptop, Jane searched for something she could use as a weapon with her eyes.

Adrian smirked at his former best friend's action. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you. Even if you lashed out at me, I wasn't going to use the gun."

"That's a first."

Adrian sighed again and ran his fingers through his hair. "Jane, the reason I'm here is simple."

"Oh, good, because if it wasn't I was afraid we'd be here all day due to the fact your brain is, as you say, 'simple'."

He gave her a look. "I'm here for the list."

Jane returned his look with one of confusion. "List? What list?"

"The list of names that were killed on that night. What other list would it be?!"

"Why in Heaven's name would I have that list?!"

"I know you do, Jane. Don't lie to me."

"Oh, like you did during our entire_ friendship_?"

Adrian stood up abruptly. "Meet me at the old, abandoned warehouse on the other side of London. Two o'clock. Don't be late, and bring the list. Alone."

And with that he grabbed his gun and stormed down the stairs and out of 221b.

Jane took several deep breaths before letting herself relax.

Why would he want that list? It didn't make any sense...

Rubbing her temples, she walked over to the window and stared out of it, gazing at the street below.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

It was dusk, and Jane hadn't moved an inch.

She vaguely heard the door downstairs open and close. Then she heard the sound of someone walking up the stairs, and walk into the room with her.

* * *

Sherlock opened the flat door and knew instantly something was amiss.

One: the door was unlocked. Even though Jane had relaxed over the years about security, she always kept it locked.

Two: the stairs creaked slightly more than usual. As if someone of, say, a hundred and sixty or more pounds had stampeded up or down them.

Three: when he walked into the living room, a distinct smell of cologne lingered in the air. Men's cologne.

Four: Shoe marks on the floor. Size eleven. Too large for Mrs. Hudson, and too small for Lestrade.

Five: Jane's laptop. There was a scuff mark on the top. Something heavy, metal, and black was placed none too gently on it. Mug? No. Gun? Yes.

After noticing everything out-of-place that there was to notice, Sherlock directed his attention on the woman staring blankly out the window.

* * *

Sherlock's deep, rich voice sent shivers down her spine as it broke the silence. "Who was here."

Jane said the first name that came to her mind without looking away from the window. "Mrs. Hudson."

"Lie. Shoe marks are too big."

"No, sorry, Lestrade came by for a moment."

"Too small."

She sighed and wondered why she even bothered. "An old friend."

"Friend?"

"You don't know him."

Sherlock took in her tired and stressed expression and stature. "What did this _'friend'_ want?"

"Something I don't have."

"Oh? What's his name."

"Again, you don't know him."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Jane..."

"I'm going to bed."

Jane began to make her way to her bedroom when Sherlock stopped her. "Don't just walk out on me, Jane Watson."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You mean like you did?!" Hurt flashed across Sherlock's face. "Three years you left me, Sherlock. _Three years!_ And then you show up and disappear again on the _same day_. Don't you **dare** tell me what I can and can't do!"

She shoved her way past him and up into her room, this time leaving Sherlock alone.

* * *

I feel like Moffat while writing this... Oh God, I'm a monster...


	7. Everything Has Consequences

_**"If you were dying, if you'd been murdered. In your very last few seconds, what would you say?"**_

_**"'Please, God, let me live'..."**_

_**"Use your imagination!"**_

_**"I don't have to."**_

* * *

Jane laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, her heart beating with anticipation and worry.

Sighing, she turned her head to see her clock. It was nearly one in the morning.

She was still dressed from the day. Same jeans and plaid button-down shirt.

Slowly, she stood up and found her shoes and jacket, slipping them on. She found her hand gun, made sure it was properly loaded.

Jane quietly opened her door and walked down the stairs where she knew Sherlock was.

The door leading to the living room was nearly shut, save for a small inch.

Peering in, Jane saw Sherlock sitting in his usual chair, plucking at his violin strings. He looked...lost.

She knew she shouldn't have snapped at him the way she did, but let's face it, he asked for it.

No, that's wrong, she was just scared that he might not have come back and she would never see him again, and with Adrian showing up didn't help.

Jane took her time to take in his features. He was wearing that purple shirt that she always liked. It made him look very...attractive, being tight and all. His hair was the usual black mess on top of his head. He was wearing black jeans, she immediately like them. (A/N- Who wouldn't?)

A smile graced her lips. She felt like she could stare at him forever and never get tired.

For the first time in three years, Jane felt happy. She had finally gotten her best friend back, and this time, she had no intention of letting him go again.

Jane refused to let someone as pathetic as Adrian Hansford get in the way.

So, as quietly as humanly possible, Jane walked down the stairs, and out of flat 221B.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Jane stepped out of the cab and faced the giant building looming in front of her. Letting her eyes take in every window, door, pipe. Already plotting out possible escape routes, as was her training.

Taking a breath, she turned and paid the driver, but just as she was about to turn to leave for the abandoned building, he asked, "Are you sure this is where you want t'go, miss? It's almost two in the mornin' and only bad things happen over 'ere."

Jane gave a smile. "Yes, I'm sure. There's something I need to do, and then I'll leave. Please, don't worry, I'm not doing drugs or anything." she laughed.

He smiled back worriedly. "Well, if you're sure..." He took the money and drove off into the night.

Turning back to the warehouse, Jane wrapped her coat tighter around herself and walked forward.

When she reached the door, she slowly touched the knob, her pulse quickening as dread and fear crept into her.

Jane shut her eyes.

She was a soldier.

She was Captain Jane Watson. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.

She had seen the terrors of war.

Felt the pain of injury, loss, and betrayal.

Carried the burden of those whose lives she had taken, and those whose she failed to save.

She had seen deaths door itself and come back.

She had been bent, broken, and left for dead, and each time she came back stronger than before.

And she would rather re-live it all again, than to stand out in the cold like an idiot due to fright.

Because unlike all those other times, when she mainly did stuff just for the hell of it and impulse, she had something she wanted to protect.

Something she wasn't going to let anyone or anything take away from her ever again, even if she had to taint her already red hands black with more blood.

And if need be, she would die for that something, and in the process, take the one threatening that something with her straight to hell with no regrets.

For you can be sure, Jane Watson may look like an angel, **but don't think for even a _second_ that she is one of them**.

Turning the knob, Jane entered the warehouse. Looking around, she saw nothing but cobwebs and dust.

She looked towards a large set of stairs, deciding that's where the idiot would be, and walked up them.

When she reached the top, she came to a large room. Before she had a chance to look around, lights flashed on, blinding her for a moment.

Jane walked out near the middle of the room, taking in the boxes and objects that filled it. You could easily hide behind some of them. "Alright, I'm here. Now what?" She called.

A door opened on the other side of the room, and in came Adrian Hansford.

He grinned. "Hello again, Jane. Right on time, as usual."

"Cut the crap and let's get to the point. What do you want?"

Adrian's smile faded. "I told you: the list. You did bring it, didn't you."

"There was nothing to bring. I don't have it."

"I know you do."

"But I don't. It was never given to me even though I asked. I wanted to know the names of all who had died, call it sympathy, but they wouldn't give it to me." She turned back towards the stairs. "Now, if that's all you want, I'll be going back home now."

A gunshot rang as a bullet raced past her, grazing her cheek, and pierced the wall.

Jane turned back to her "old friend" with a face that showed no sign of the pain or shock that she was feeling. Reaching up with her hand, wiped the blood that began to flow. "You could have just said 'wait'."

He lowered the gun. "I know, but you wouldn't have listened."

"Fair enough. Continue?"

Adrian's eyes took on an almost pleading look. "Jane, please, if you give me the list, I'll never show myself before you again."

"Are you deaf? I just said I didn't have it."

"I can't let you leave until you either hand it over, or tell me where it is."

Jane sighed, she had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but she knew it couldn't be avoided.

As quick as lightning, she reached behind her and pulled her gun from her belt, firing a shot in the man across from her, and then flung herself behind one of the boxes, preparing to shoot again.

Adrian threw himself to the ground as the bullet grazed his left arm, shouting, "So you wanna play a game? Fine!"

Jane chose another hiding spot and ran for it, Adrian firing another bullet her way, and her returning the favor as she barely missed and ducked behind the new object.

_I've shot two. He's shot three. We've each got the same gun, so ten rounds the limit. So basically another seven to dodge, and eight chances to end it. Brilliant._

Adrian shot up and ran towards her cover, and she took the chance to shoot at him, but the things he ran behind kept getting in the way.

And for a moment, she lost him, only to hear a round being shot somewhere to her left, and then her left forearm feeling hot.

She yelled as pain shot through her and ducked down again, sliding to the other side of her protection.

And Adrian, in his confidence, stood and began to run zigzagged between the objects towards her.

Jane looked at her arm, it wasn't pretty and it was agonizing to move. But that was exactly what she had to do. All she needed this arm for was support for her gun hand, that's all she needed it for.

She popped up again and, catching a quick glimpse of movement, shot in that direction.

It took Jane a moment to register the sound of a cry, and then the sound of a body hitting the ground in agony, but when she did, she said the only that came to her mind, her voice sounding her mixed emotions, "Sniper bait..."

Standing up, she walked over to him. He was on the ground, roughly gasped for air. The bullet had missed anything vital, but it was still enough to make him useless. She kicked his gun away.

As she gazed down at him, their eyes connected, and Jane knew they were thinking the same thing.

Things were reverse now. He was on the ground, and she held his life in her hands.

Jane had one bullet left. She could take revenge for all the pain he had caused her. Revenge for all of their comrades lives he was responsible for. She could end it all.

Jane pointed her gun at his heart, ice in her eyes. As he looked at the gun for a moment, his eyes seemed to calm, and he looked back into hers. Her heart felt like it was being stabbed as she saw the faint, ghost of a smile appear on his lips.

It was then Jane made her decision;

She was not like him.

And she would not become like him.

She lowered the gun. "I'm letting you live. Not because I don't have the nerve or guts to do it, I just don't care what happens to you. You no longer have any impact on my life. I'll call you some help and let you continue your wretched life. I'll also call Mycroft and tell him I've finished the job. You'll be locked up like the dog you are. It's over.

For us, and this pathetic excuse we once called friendship. _Goodbye, Adrian_."

Jane had begun to walk away when the door that Adrian came out of creaked opened once again, and two large, savage-looking dogs came running out as the door shut itself again.

Jane's eyes went wide. "What the...?"

Adrian grabbed her ankle and gasped. "Jane... run!" before letting go.

Looking back at the dogs, they had gotten closer. She shot at one, killing it instantly, but that was her last round, and the other was still coming. "Dammit!"

Throwing the gun away, Jane turned and ran for her life.

She ran down the stairs, but it jumped down at her, knocking her down.

She grabbed the railing as it bit her leg and began tearing her apart.

"Let go of me!" She yelled as she tried kicking hit. But it wasn't of any use.

Her leg was in shreds, and the beast had caught it's eye on her throat.

Tears began to fill her eyes. Was she really going to die like this? After all she had survived. After all she had been through. Is this really how it ends?

One thought. One last thought filled her mind as the dog bit her shoulder even though she was trying to fight back. **One thought** practically took over her entire being as her world began to turn red, then black. And with the last of her strength, Jane cried out, "SHERLOCK!"

A gunshot sounded.

* * *

The dog fell, dead. A bullet had pierced his skull, killing him instantly.

Sherlock Holmes walked across the distance separating them and kicked the animal off the limp woman.

Gazing down at her, he caught the slight recognition in her eyes as she gave a small smile and said weakly, "Took you long enough..." And then she faded into unconsciousness.

He took in the sight before him.

**Blood.**

Blood pooled out from her delicate frame.

Her right leg was painted entirely crimson and in shreds, with bit marks covering it.

Her left shoulder was not in as bad condition, but was still bad. Her shirt and jacket dyed with the red liquid.

He had half a mind to shoot the beast again.

Her left forearm had been shot, and was red.

A bullet graze was on her cheek.

If she was not in the state she was in, he would have gone up the stairs and created a scene the devil himself would find horrifying.

Bending down, he pick up Jane bridal style, letting his own clothes become dyed with her blood, and carried her out.

* * *

A man in a black Westwood suit and playing with the chewing gum in his mouth, followed by another, bigger man in nice clothes, yet worn in a 'I-don't-care' sort of way walked out the door the dogs ran out of and to where Adrian laid on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

The first man sighed. "Well, looks like Sherlock's DEFINITELY not going to be too happy now, eh, Adrain~?" Adrian coughed and then groaned in pain.

The man looked down at him, giving him a curious look. It was as if he was amused at the sight before him. "Who knew little Jane had that much of a fire in her. It's a shame, though, those were good dogs." He knitted his eyebrows together and frowned slightly.

Giving a slight jerk of the head, he said, "Sebastian, pick Adrian up and get him medical attention. I can't have him dying from blood loss just yet." Letting a smarmy smile play his mouth.

The larger man bent down and flung Adrian over his shoulder like a sack of rice, and then proceeded to follow the other man out again.

* * *

Jane slowly regained consciousness.

She hurt, all over. It was painful to even breathe, her left shoulder hurt so bad, and her right leg felt numb.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, flinching as a bright light hit them, and looked around.

It was white. Everything was white. It took her a moment to realize she was in a hospital room. How dull.

Turning her head, she noticed a black clad figure with splotches of red on it sitting in a chair next to the bed.

It was Sherlock.

He gazed at her with that same strange emotion in his eyes that he had before.

It was a good five minutes before Sherlock broke the silence, his voice rumbling low and smooth. "Are you alight?"

Jane opened and closed her mouth several times before answering, finding it hard to speak. "Y-Yeah. About as alright as one can be after what happened."

"I see."

They returned to silence, then Jane remembered something. "Adrian... I shot him. It wasn't fatal, but if it's not attended to, he-"

"As far as I'm aware, he's alive. After I took you out, Mycroft had someone search the place. There was blood, but no body."

"I see..."

Sherlock took another moment before saying, "An old friend, huh... I should have known who it was that came. I noticed you leaving the flat, figuring that you just couldn't sleep as usual and headed out to cool off, so I didn't act. It was when you hadn't come back that I knew something was wrong and head out to search for you."

"How did you know where I was?" She might seem ridiculous, asking Sherlock Holmes such a question, but she really didn't see how he could get that from just walking around the flat, unless he followed her from the beginning.

"As I was looking for you, I saw a cab driver getting off his shift, when I went up and described you, he told me. I ran there immediately."

"Ah."

Sherlock knitted his eyebrows together. "What did Dr. Hansford want?"

Jane looked up at the ceiling. "A list." She said simply.

He gave her a confused look. "List?"

"A list of all the soldiers who were killed when he betrayed the army. I don't know why he wanted it, but..."

"Did you give it to him?"

"No. Didn't have it. Used to, but I left it in my pants pocket one time and washed it. Just my luck." She chuckled.

Sherlock smiled amusedly, then said. "Well, the doctor said you will be fine. They removed the bullet from your arm and patched it up. Your shoulder was bitten rather badly, but was mendable. You'll be able to move it just fine after a while. Your leg, on the other hand..."

"I can barely feel it..."

"Yes, well, they had to sow the muscles back together and mend all the other damage, luckily none was done to the bone. It will take a while, but it should be fine again. Nothing permanent."

"Mm..."

"Do you know why he wanted the list, Jane?"

She thought a moment before, painfully, sitting up. "No. Can you think of anything?"

He sat next to her on the bed and answered in about two seconds flat. "It's possible that he was searching for something. A certain name, most likely. One that had influence."

"Why would he-?"

He cut her off. "I'm getting to that. With the right methods, he could gain quite a bit of money off that person's family. _OR_..." He then began to describe fifty other choices with hand gestures and in the usual childish manner.

Jane rolled her eyes, knowing that she shouldn't have asked. The first was most likely, so she zoned out and got herself comfortable.

It was when it hit the twenty-minute mark that she was getting annoyed.

She took a moment to look at his face as he spoke. Just how many facial expressions can one have when speaking? She wondered.

She then felt a desire that she no longer had any intention of ignoring. "Sherlock."

He stopped and raised is eyebrows in question. "Do me a favor, shut up." In one swift movement, Jane reached forward with her good arm and pulled his head toward her.

Their lips met, and it was... something that you can't quite put into words. It was like that moment when you first smell a rose, or first see a rainbow, only better.

The feelings running through Jane's heart were indescribable, but perhaps that's because what she was feeling was never meant to be described, it was something you had to feel to understand.

And now that Jane felt it, she realized that all those fairy tales and movies and love stories never quite did it justice.

The happiness that one felt was enough to make your heart burst. And the powerful emotion coursing through ones body was so strong, that if you even tried to hold it back, it would consume you entirely.

And Jane knew what it was, that emotion. The emotion that she had recognized three years ago.

_Love_.

That one emotion that had the power to both heal and rip you apart at the same time. The one that no dictionary would ever be able to describe.

_That _was what she was feeling.

Sherlock resisted at first, not knowing what to do, but then relaxed.

He didn't move, but instead placed a hand on Jane's cheek and tenderly kissed back.

After all, Sherlock may have been told on more that one occasion that he had a heart of ice and stone.

That he was completely incapable of love.

And they were right, that is, if they were talking about his feeling towards them.

But as for the woman who was now with him, _that _was another story.

* * *

*hyperventilating in corner*


	8. The Quiet After A Storm

Hey, sorry that it's taken so long. This thing called 'life' that my mother insisted I get back to came in between me and this. Also, three people I know -including my God Mother- and a pet have died in a ridiculously short amount of time left and right, so I've attended funerals constantly. Then I've had a bunch of other things happen, and just life in general. Sorry for the late update, again.

* * *

_**"My bother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"**_

_**"I don't know."**_

_**"Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate."**_

* * *

It's been two months since the indecent at the warehouse. Jane's leg and shoulder are on their way to complete recovery, save the fact that if she tries to walk or move them too much they begin acting up painfully.

Sherlock, being the over-protective thing he is, insists she stay in bed or sitting in the flat all the time.

Naturally this makes Jane bored, and Sherlock's habit of shooting the wall when he's bored appealed to her by this point.

He practically waits on her hand and foot; always asking if she wants something and helping her get around.

Jane never mentions Adrian or what happened that day. It makes an uncomfortable atmosphere.

She knows that he has not stopped looking for Adrian, and she knows he never will. He investigates when she's not around, or when she's asleep or at physical therapy. Even though she has asked him to drop it, it's not an option for him. He wants Adrian's head, giving Jane the usual, annoying head-ache she gets when he's over-bearing.

Now, Jane was sitting up in her bed on her laptop, drinking tea Sherlock made for her. It was awful. Truly disgusting. There were tea leaves in it and it seem like he steeped it far too long. It also tasted burned. She was used to it, seeing as how he's done it like this from day one. The man has no talent in anything of this sort. But that's alright, Jane's just happy she didn't find a thumb in it like last time. She didn't mind it tasted bad, either. She loved it.

She loved it because he tried his best in making it for her, and that was all that mattered.

A knock on her door made her look up. "Come in!" She said.

The door opened to reveal Sherlock. He entered and sat on the edge of her bed. With concern in his voice and on his face, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

Jane sighed. Placing her tea on the nightstand and closing her laptop, she answered, "The same as the other five-hundred time you've asked: **fine**. Just fine. Just the usual aches and soreness; nothing else. However, I do have an itch on my foot and I can't get to it because of the wrappings, so it's irritating the hell out of me."

Sherlock gave a small smile. "Good," his face became serious, "I'm going out. I should be back in two hours, so if you need me in that time, just call. I'll come straight back. Mrs. Hudson is in her room, so shout if you need her. And-"

"I get it, I get it!" Jane said jokingly. He always said this, or something similar every time he went somewhere. "I'll be alright without you for a few hours, you know."

The smile returned to his perfect face. "Right. Bye, then."

He placed a hand on her cheek, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. Jane closed her eyes as his lips touched her skin for the brief, yet wonderful moment. She smiled at him as he pulled back, which he returned.

After Sherlock stood and exited the room, Jane rested her head against the head-board and sighed in contentment.

The days were quiet and uneventful, but that was okay. As long as she could have this man by her side, Jane was fine with anything. She could forget about all the bad things. About Adrian. She knew she would have to face him again - and whoever he was working for - but she would take it as it came. She needed to focus on full recovery and making Sherlock looked after himself instead of just her. And, when the time did come, she would end it all.

After about an hour and a half, her stomach protested in hunger. She looked down at it with an eyebrow raised.

Sighing, she put her laptop to the side and slowly swung her legs over. She braced herself and began to put weight on her feet. When she felt the throb in her injured, right leg, she shifted to the other and stood awkwardly.

She huffed and placed her right hand on her night stand and, using her good arm as support, made her way to the kitchen.

When there Jane leaned on the counter and breathed heavily, leg throbbing painfully.

Building up her courage, she began to make her way to the fridge. But before she could go to steps, her leg gave out underneath her, knocking the flower vase onto the ground with her arm as she fell. She grunted when she hit her bad shoulder on the floor.

She couldn't move. Her body wouldn't let her. She was burning with pain. White spots floated in her vision.

Should she try to call Sherlock? God no. Mrs. Hudson? Worth a try.

Gathering air in her lungs, she called out, "Mrs. Hudson?! HELP! PLEASE!" Her head began to spin.

Mrs. Hudson ran into the room a few moments later. She gasped when she spotted Jane on the floor. "Jane! Oh, my God, what happened?"

Jane looked up at her as she rushed to her side. "Oh, you know, I did something I've been told not to do since I was released from the hospital and now I'm looking like an idiot for it. Could you help me up, please?" Mrs. Hudson gave her a look.

After Jane was safely in her chair in the living room, Mrs. Hudson sat across from her. "That was a bloody foolish thing to do!" She snapped.

Jane sighed. "I know, I know."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack! Oh, just wait 'til Sherlock finds out."

Jane's heart nearly stopped. "No!"

"No what?"

"Please, don't tell him!"

Mrs. Hudson looked at the younger woman across from her disbelieving. "Of course I'm going to tell him! He's your lover now, dear, he deserves to know. Secrets are not good for a healthy relationship."

Jane rolled her eyes. "I know. And I don't intend to keep secrets from him. Just this one. He'll freak out for no reason. I'm fine."

She was given a hard look. "He'll find out one way or another. Nothing can be kept from him for very long."

"Not if we're careful." Jane gave a cute smile.

It was Mrs. Hudson's turn to roll her eyes. "Honestly... Fine. I won't say anything. But if he does find out - _which he will_ - don't expect me to help you."

Jane's eyes lit up. "That's fine! Thank you, than you! You're a saint." She was answered with another look.

They were interrupted by the door opening and closing.

Jane's heart skipped a beat in panic and she shared a quick glance with the older woman as Sherlock walked in.

He stopped mid-way taking his scarf and coat off when he saw the two women sitting there. His eyes locked on Jane. "Jane. What are you doing in here?"

Her throat tightened. She was never very good at lying, but she would have to make it work. "Got sick of that room," that wasn't a lie, "and then I got hungry," that wasn't a lie either, "so I had Mrs. Hudson help me down here." _T__hat _was a lie.

He finished removing his coat and scarf and threw them aside. "I see," he gave a smile to Mrs. Hudson. "Thank you for taking care of her while I was gone."

Mrs. Hudson looked a tad uncomfortable as she stood and said, "Oh, no trouble at all, dear. Just glad I could help!"

She had begun to make her way across the room when Sherlock noticed something. "What happened to that vase?"

Again, Jane's heart nearly stopped. Mrs. Hudson looked at it and said without thinking, "Oh, that must've happened when Jane-" she cut herself off.

Sherlock's eyes snapped to her. "When Jane, what?"

Mrs. Hudson tried to cover up her mistake. "I mean - when _I_ was in there and made tea. I guess I didn't notice."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "The tea-pot is still hanging on its hook, and at least one of you would have noticed a glass vase smashing against the ground."

Jane's eyes closed. _'Game over...'_

Mrs. Hudson spoke quickly, "No tea? Oh! I must have mistaken it for the pot I was making in my room before I came here. Now that I think about it, it must be boiling over, gotta go. Talk to you two later!" And hurriedly left the room. _'Traitor.' _Jane thought sourly as she watched the woman's retreating back vanish.

She caught Sherlock's eye and looked away. The silence was deadly. It was several moments before Sherlock broke the silence with a hard voice, "Mrs. Hudson didn't help you down here, did she?" It was more a statement than a question.

Jane's mouth suddenly felt dry. "No..." She said meekly.

"Then that means... that you came down those stairs... and into the kitchen... on _that_ leg... by yourself. And judging by the vase, you fell?"

She didn't answer. Her silence was enough for him to understand, anyway. Instead she braced herself for the explosion that was to come.

It never came.

He merely stood there.

Timidly, she looked back at him. His face was impassive. She knew he was hurt, though. Guilt washed through her as she lowered her eyes and mumbled, "I'm sorry..."

He didn't say anything but walked over and crouched next to her chair. Looking up at her, he asked, "Are you alright?" His face and eyes showed nothing but concern.

She gave a small smile. "Yes."

He returned it and placed a hand on her cheek. "Good."

Jane couldn't help it. He was just too adorable. She leaned down and gently kissed him. It was short, sweet, and apologetic.

However, the moment was ruined by a rock being thrown through the window.

* * *

Yeah, that's right, I'm leaving you with a cliff-hanger. Bye-Bye!


	9. My Brother's Keeper

**_"Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table._**

**_But soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he'd slain._**

**_And soon they began to wonder, Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?_**

**_Oh no..."_**

* * *

The rock smashed through the window, ruining a perfectly good moment. Sherlock was instantly on his feet and at the window, looking around for the one who threw it. "Not there. Street's empty. Must've ran fast." He said, more to himself than to Jane. He turned towards her, she had just gotten over the shock and was just relaxing again. He noticed the glass thrown about and asked, "You weren't hit, were you? By the glass, I mean."

Jane blinked a few times before looking at him and saying, "What? Oh, um, no. No, I'm fine. What was that about?"

Sherlock looked at the ground and noticed something taped to it. "A note on the rock, how original." He bent down, picked it up, took the note off, and casting the rock aside, read. He face remained expressionless, but Jane could tell something was wrong. She leaned forward in her chair. "What does it say?" She asked.

Sherlock didn't answer her right away. After re-reading it a few times, he stuffed to note in his pocket and said, "I have to go."

"What?" She asked, bemused.

Sherlock was already putting on his coat and heading towards the door. "It seems someone wants to meet me. It's convenient because I have been looking forward to meeting him as well," right before he disappeared from her sight, he turned and looked her in the eyes, his pleading. "Wait here for me...please. I'll be back soon, so don't do anything, I beg you." And with that, he left, leaving Jane all alone once again.

Jane stared after him, unable to look away from the spot he was just standing. She knew what that note was, it could only be one person, after all. "Adrian..." She whispered, her voice a double-edged sword.

Before she could do anything, a second rock came through the broken window. Jane jumped slightly as it hit the ground near her feet. She looked at it for a moment: another note was taped to it. She reached down and picked it up, taking off the note as she did so. When she unfolded it, she read:

_Hello, Jane!_

_You must be surprised to be receiving another letter so soon. I had wanted to give this to you myself, but it'd be a little too risky. If you hadn't guessed already, the first note was just to get Sherlock out-of-the-way. He can be so overprotective sometimes, don't you think? Though, I suppose that's also one of his charms._

_Anyway, the point is, I need you to come see me. There's a cab waiting for you downstairs. All you have to do is get in it and it will take you to where I am and we can talk. Don't keep me waiting~  
_

_PS. I know it's hard for you to get around, so just give a shout out to the lad outside and he'll come help you._

_- JM_

Jane crushed the note in her first. _JM, huh? _She thought bitterly, _Things can never just die, can they?_

Slowly, she stood and made her way to the window. Leaning on the frame, she looked down and saw a yellow cab with a man leaning up against it. He was wearing dress clothes, however, his shirt was untucked, sleeves rolled up to elbows, tie loose, and vest open. From what she could tell, he was middle-aged and had honey-blond hair and was muscular. She called down to him and he looked up. Without saying a word, he pushed off the vehicle, put his hands in his pockets and entered the flat.

It took only a minute for him to appear in the doorway to the living-room. Upon closer speculation, she noticed he had stubble and green eyes. She nodded. "I take it you're Sebastian?" He only gave a nod in response, and then proceeded to walked over and pick her up bridal-style, careful not to hurt her. Jane looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Okay, then." He remained silent while he turned and carried her to the cab.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

The cab stopped in front of the same warehouse that she met Adrian. Jane sighed, not liking where this was going. Sebastian got out and opened her door, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her out. Slamming the door behind him, he headed towards the building. Jane simply looked at the ground as she was carried through the door and into some room to the right, looking up only when he went to put her down in the center of the room.

Jane looked around; there was nothing in the room, not even a box to hide behind. She knew it was stupid to come, she was in no condition to fight, but she wanted this to be over with already, and if Moriarty was behind everything, there was hell to pay and she was the deliverer.

The door opened again and she turned expecting to see the usual Westwood clad, psychopath serial-killer. But it wasn't. It was a younger man, no more than twenty-three walk in. He was wearing Westwood, yes, but that was the only familiar sight. He had curly red hair, and when he looked at her, she saw brown eyes that might as well have been black. He gave a smirk that was all too familiar, though. "Who are you?"

The man rolled on the balls of his feet. "Oh, that's right, we've never met, have we? Though, you could say that I know you but you don't know me!"

Jane narrowed her eyes. Sebastian walked from his spot off to the side over the wall by the door and leaned up against it, crossing his arms. Jane noticed he had two hand guns on him, and she guessed that the mystery man had one, too. Deciding she was going to be killed, anyway, she said, "No, I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure," he smiled at that, "Also, it seems I've mistaken you for someone else, considering your staff, apparel and initials are the same. So I'll ask again: who the hell are you? Some weird, copycat follower of Moriarty?"

He shook his head. "Oh, Jane... Your sass and snark could fuel the city's power, you know that, right?"

"Just another free service I offer. Now, answer the damn question. I don't like to be told where to go and what to do, and I've also got a window to repair, no thanks to you."

He merely smiled once more. "You are SO not cute. And you know what? I truly believe that you and Sherlock were made for one another, I mean it."

"Thank you." She bowed her head slightly.

"And," he continued, his eyes cold as ice, "just because I'm in a good mood today, I'll tell you who I am: My name is Jack, Jack Moriarty. I believe you've met my older brother, considering you're one of the reasons he's dead."

Jane's eyes widened. "What...?"

* * *

Ha! You thought it was going to be THE Moriarty, didn't you! Betcha didn't see THAT coming! MWAHAHAHA!


End file.
